


a stolen life.

by godbrute (softsin)



Series: piers drabbles because i enjoy angst a little too much [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: also i am trans and yes this might be me projecting a little bit, and so are a lot of others and some gym leaders, and theres a mention of throwing up too if ur sensitive to that, and yes i named piers' obstagoon badflower. because i can. and i love him, but here's another thing: marnie is also trans in this, i headcanon piers and transgenfer ftm, i'm gonna beat the fuck outta some transphobes i swear it, let me portray my son as i wish i beg you, not blantant transphobia but very uncomfortable comments that shouldn't have been made, ok thanks for comin to my ted talk in the tags, okay so here's the thing, so like read with caution esp if you're sensitive to a little bit of dysphoria, so there's a lot of him struggling with some things, this is because of my discord server okay i yet again blame them but lovingly so, uh also before i forget. there is a mention of piers family, ya know. being very fuckin transphobic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsin/pseuds/godbrute
Summary: piers finds himself feeling dysphoric and sad. this is not happy ad all. im sorrytw: dysphoria, transphobia, and puking.
Series: piers drabbles because i enjoy angst a little too much [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616032
Kudos: 9





	a stolen life.

**Author's Note:**

> piers i am so sorry baby.  
> just in case you missed it in the tags or description:  
> !!!!!! THIS HAS A BIT OF HEAVY DYSPHORIA AND TRANSPHOBIA. THERE IS A MENTION OF PUKING. !!!!  
> please read with caution if you are sensitive to it. i do not want my work to hurt you, so please avoid it if you think it will do so.

piers really did try his best to be there for everyone / in lyrics or in person. the problem was that, beyond his songs, he really wasn’t great at conversing with other people. piers may put on an apathetic front at times but he wasn’t all mean, not entirely, and certainly not purposely to people who didn’t deserve it. it pained him / hurting people unintentionally, but he always did his best to make it up to them in return — but what could he do when he spoke poorly to himself ** _?_** who was it that would correct him when he couldn’t help saying hurtful things on his own ** _?_** **_(_** **spoiler:** no one. **_)_**

just himself, and the two little devils on his shoulders — egging it on.

it was times like this that he _tore_ into himself / various things were easy to pick and rip. his hair, his eyes, his legs, his torso — the way his voice still faltered at times and how it just was never quite deep enough to be **_convincing_** _._ ** _(_** he recalls a particularly foul memory / an incident where the interviewer had said just a bit too much, just a bit too insensitively — ‘ _piers, is it true that you were once female_ ** _?_** _can you tell us what your journey was like_ ** _?_** ‘ ** _)_** was the interviewer a little out of line ** _?_** yes, but it wasn’t as if it was an entirely offensive question / just one he wasn’t quite ready for, one he didn’t really fancy talking about, much less to television or media. at the time, piers had simply sped away, aching to get away from the crowd while the question spun in his head like the wool of a clothmaker — there was nowhere to run, here / no safe place to ease himself into. **_(_** **_hilarious!_** his home was a safe place to another and yet he felt the most endangered in it, all by himself. ** _)_**

his journey was never over / and it never would be. that was the hard part — having to constantly remind himself of who he was and it’s validity, confronting his identity in the real world — getting through the hurtful thoughts in his heart that his brain so generously fed to it. piers wasn’t ever truly _done_ transitioning, because part of it was also accepting himself and knowing his worth. perhaps he never would be / these sleepless, lyric-less nights were the ones couldn’t avoid hurting himself with the thoughts during with the constant reminder that he wasn't truly _real_.

yet, funnily enough, he was still able to pretend as if he were the most confident and secure in his identity out of them all.

how far from that case, that was — piers merely functioned as a support, a solidarity in galar’s trans community. he knew how to battle those thoughts for them, what counter measures they needed to do so, and how to aid another in securing their own feelings. but just because he could do it for them didn’t, by any means, imply that he could do the same for himself / reverse psychology truly was nothing more than a worthless, damned phenomenon. 

it was enough for him to be their leaning stone. piers adored the kids, as much as he refused to admit it, but he did / more than his music, perhaps. sometimes it just a bit too overwhelming / their glee, their readiness to be who they were. he was envious, near jealousy, if one paid enough attention to it — piers didn’t have that growing up. he’d basically been thrown out, having escaped his home with his baby sister in his arms and no where to go. but he’d done it, he’d become the man he wanted to be and was living the life he wished to. when marnie came out to him, he had made it part of his life's goal to always be there for trans children and from then on, that was exactly what he had done, along with helping a few gym leaders too. piers was happy with it, he loved his role in their lives / but that didn’t change his reality.

the reality that he’d never be the real man he envisioned himself to be.

so there he laid in his bed with badflower’s heavy head tucked into his chest, relaying those gritty thoughts in his brain until they reach his eyes and spill over onto his pillow sheet. he’s careful not to heave the way he needs to — badflower would have a fit if piers woke him up at this time of the night — but he can't stop his skin from itching, from crawling, for begging him to _tear it all off_ and burn it in the fireplace. piers can't stop the thought that he wasn’t real, that he was a vacant shell, that he’d taken his body from someone else that would’ve loved it more than he had / that he’d stolen his life from someone more worthy of it. 

_i’m a dirty thief who isn’t thankful for the things he successfully stole._

his throat closed up as it threatened to empty his body’s contents and piers suddenly couldn’t take it any longer — he ripped away from badflower and made a run to the toilet before shoving his head into it and letting it all out. piers stayed there for hours, heaving acid and letting tears drip out if his will’s grasp. badflower had followed him to rub his back and hold his hair, but the poor obstagoon was terribly sleepy / _i’m sorry, flower._ he was even a problem for his loving friend / what a joy ** _!_**

when piers finally had the energy to pull himself together enough to get up, he brushed his teeth and simply returned to bed in his previous position / thoughts still rummaged his head like a cluttered supply closet, but he was empty. piers was running on fumes — his skin crawling barely registered as anything but a numbness.

_to be numb_ — how splendid that would be!

and it’s what he becomes / and this is where his journey often ends, during those fitful days. just like this: his eyes sore, his throat raw, his nose full, and his heart empty. this was what it always boiled down to.

~~pretending to be~~ being a man wasn’t all that hard / getting yourself to believe you were one was.

  
  


‘ another night, another bite, yeah ** _?_ ** ‘ his obstagoon _whurrs_ sadly, and piers' heart aches dully / he scratched the top of his friend's head and smiled at him. — his dear obstagoon was far too big to be sleeping with him as if he were still a little zizagoon, but he was thankful for his presence nonetheless. ‘ say, i bet i can beat ya in getting comfortable and sound asleep again. eh ** _?_ ** what about it, you wanna gamble for some berries _ **?**_ **‘**

badflower won the bet. piers just spent the sleepless night calculating his self-hatred.

**_(_ ** **ouch,** _big number._ **_)_ **

**Author's Note:**

> badflower the obstagoon. i love u. my sweet son.  
> thank you for reading and im sorry lmao


End file.
